


but first, they must catch you

by Puffls



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Flashbacks, Gen, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Manipulation, Past Abuse, Post-The Eleventh Hour, Trauma, Vomit, a whole lotta guilt, fuck sazed, magnus also gives out good hugs, magnus wrestled a deer once hes gonna be the new steve irwin, merle is fucking Short, spoilers for episode 48
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-29 09:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10850829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puffls/pseuds/Puffls
Summary: It's a hollow feeling to see the ghosts of the past walk into reality once more.Taako runs into a familiar face.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yooooooo shoutout to tumblr user taakowiki for making this comic that rlly resonated with me that was part of the inspiration for writing this  
> ( http://taakowiki.tumblr.com/post/156651157068/something-about-trauma )
> 
> also shoutout to my buds kade, wolfy, and frosty for tolerating my doodles of carey fangbattle on a skateboard because if y'all're reading this, you're as deep in this silly podcast as I am and I think that's wonderful. love u nerds.
> 
> The full thing ended up being Pretty Long, so it ended up being split up a little. It's not quite done, but right now it's sitting pretty at 4.5k words. It would be a oneshot, but I got impatient. Yeha.

It was Magnus's idea to head down to Neverwinter.

It had been some errand for Avi, Taako thinks he remembers. Something about not wanting to dish his ass over to Garfield in exchange for buying hooch in bulk when there's better stuff down planetside without having to sacrifice a spare lung in addition to the coin. And yeah, Taako can respect that. No one wants to go toe to toe with the deals warlock in a match of mercantile wits if they can help it. It wasn't like he was an exception; after the creepy little bastard took a pint of Maggie's blood for a deal, he'd been tiptoeing around the entrance of Fantasy Costco, 'lest Garfield catch a whiff of his unease and drag him in for a bargain.

Hell to the no, baby.

He'd like some damn good booze in exchange for his soul, or whatever it is Garfield was after. Preferably not his soul. If that could be avoided, let's not take that path.

They didn't mind heading planetside anyways.

The trip to Refuge left them both drained and restless in ways unimaginable. To be revisited by the ghosts of the past was....well, haunting, for a lack of a better term. Unnerving. Upsetting. Horrifying. Infuriating. Devastating.

Freeing.

Taako didn't do emotions.

He practically told the Chalice as much; avoiding the emotional repercussions like the plague, laughing them off like it was the best news of his life. He was off the hook! He wasn't a murderer! He didn't poison forty people in cold blood! There was nothing wrong with his cooking! Whoop-de-doo, fellas! Huzzah! Hurrah! Three cheers for the not guilty club! He did nothing wrong! He did nothing wrong! He did nothing wrong! He did nothing wrong!

He did nothing wrong!

His only confidant and partner for three years murdered forty people in cold blood out of sheer jealousy and let him live believing the blood was on his hands for six years. Six fucking years and he could barely step foot in the kitchen despite it being a place for him to get lost in his work ever since he can remember. Six years and he could get out ingredients on a good day, but never move past that first step. Six years and he still tested and retested and retested whatever he made for poison, for any sort of fuck up in his process despite never using transmutation. Never crossed the bridge ever again. Six years and garlic smells of sick, of spit, of shit, of sweat that stained the streets that night, a smell that clings to him no matter how much he bathes, no matter how furiously he scrubs his skin clean, no matter what he uses to mask it.

He did nothing wrong.

He did nothing wrong and he was still strapped with the guilt, still strapped with the shame, still haunted by the blood on his hands from that night's performance. He did nothing wrong and it still haunts him, still has him screaming for help, screaming for a healer in the middle of the night in the dreams where he taste tested his dish like Sazed had hoped he would and he is the one who collapses onstage in a pool of his own vomit, thoroughly humiliated and writhing in agony.

He did nothing wrong all along and he felt fucking sick the next week after.

The other two hadn’t been coping much better. Merle had grown a tad more withdrawn, a tad more grumpier than normal. Often found him zoning out and staring at his arm, and who can blame him? He had the damn thing chopped off, and no amount of magic healing can stave off phantom pains on bad days. But despite this, he was more resolute. There was some sort of a firm determination and steadiness to him as he kept the other two rooted.

Magnus seemed to be lacking in his normally boundless energy and enthusiasm, and the bags beneath his eyes were borderline gucci. The man was usually almost doglike in how he bounced about along his day, carrying out training and other duties with a generally happy and good natured spirit. But it didn’t take the boy detective to see that whatever he saw was messing him up big time; on nights he forewent meditation, he could swear he heard muffled cries coming from the direction of Magnus’s room but never got involved. 

They’ve all got skeletons in their closets, and some things are best left held close to your chest for none to reach.

The Bureau headquarters felt too small, suffocating almost. It was large, yes, but knowing the area so well after living there for what, a year?,  left nowhere to wander. Only familiar buildings and scenes and an overwhelming feeling clawing at the back of their heads screaming at them to leave. They were chomping at the bit to get off and do something while the next relic was being located. When Avi mentioned his stock running dry, they practically jumped at the chance to head planetside.

And so, in an open marketplace in Neverwinter, Taako trails not too far behind Magnus and Merle leading him among brightly covered stores. The marketplace is crowded today, people flowing from stall to stall like water in a stream. The air rings out with the voices of merriment and haggling. An older woman with a nasally voice berrates a merchant over not having a certain bag. A kid further down the street wails over dropping their sweet. A soon-to-be married man excitedly talks with the jeweler about fitting him with a diamond ring. The smell of fresh baked bread wafts down the street tinged with the smoke from molten glass by the stall a little ways down from it. Mags is laughing with a man over whittling and carving and appreciating his craft when Taako sees him.

It’s just a glance out of the corner of his eye, but his blood turns to ice all the same. And surely he’s just seeing things? No one sleeps anymore and it’s running them ragged, but surely it must be that. Just that. After all, what’re the odds?

It’s a hollow feeling to see ghosts of the past walk into reality once more.

Taako's hands are trembling. His bones are made of lead and his body is full of static and his head is full of cotton and he can't believe his eyes. All he can think about is the sihlouette further down the road: woven basket filled with fresh produce carried against his hip, sack of flour tossed over his shoulder, the familiar hunch of his back as he lugged it despite knowing that the heavy shit never really bothered the fucker, did it? And maybe it's not him, but he swears he hears that familiar voice over the chorus of the crowd, straining his ears to pick it up. And maybe it's not him, because they've visited Neverwinter hundreds upon hundreds upon hundreds of times before and he never saw the fuck. A single grain of sand on the beach and all that. But he would've seen him before now. And why now?

Taako's been traveling the world. He can go anywhere he wants, anywhere he pleases thanks to the Bureau's fancy cannons. And no matter where he went, he's never seen hide nor hair of Sazed until now.

What would he have done if he ever saw him again?

The brash words that once danced across his tongue as he talked about this very situation vanished.  _ What would you do? _ He doesn’t know.  _ What would you do? _ There’s nothing he can do, he’s just standing right fucking there and  _ what would you do? _ he isn’t even sure if that even  _ is _ him, it could be anyone.  _ What would you do? _ What were the odds that he’d see him here and now instead of some time in the past and  _ what would you do?  _ this man is too happy, too confident to be Sazed, Sazed who was squeamish about even handling raw meat because it grossed him out and  _ what would you do? _ there’s no fucking way a man as guilty as him could sleep at night after what he did, right?  _ What would you do? _ To sleep the sleep of someone unburdened by their actions?

_ What would you do? _

It turns out, Taako can’t do anything after all.

 

_ (“What would you do?” Taako remembers Magnus asking him weeks later, after he spilled the events of the Chalice to Magnus and Merle. The three of them were passing around a bottle they stole from Avi after another sleepless night, hoping the haze of booze and companionship would keep away what haunted them. “Like, if you ever saw him again. What would you do?” _

_ “Oh, honey, if I ever see that spineless little worm again?” A cruel grin split across Taako’s face as he put a finger to his lips in mock contemplation. “Let’s see... Well, first, I’d force him to look me straight in the face and I’d tell him, ‘hey sweetheart, remember me? Taako? You know, from TV? It’s been so long, why don’t we have a drink, catch up….” _

_ The relatively easy expressions on the other two’s faces slowly morphed into some sort of a grimace laced with concern as Taako ranted about how he would exact his revenge on his old partner with a morbid delight. Sazed took  _ everything  _ from him. He wanted him to feel everything he did to him tenfold. Every panic attack, every bruise, every cut, every scar, every dish, every last ounce of worthlessness and fear he had ever caused him. _

_ It was only fair, after all. An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. A knife for the ribs. Just for good measure. _

_ “...and then I’d punch him!” Taako finished, taking a swig of vodka. “Point is, darlings, I want to ruin him. I want to take everything good he’s ever had away from him, just like he did to me. And I want him to know that I was the one who did it.” The other two exchanged an uneasy glance as Taako leaned back into a more relaxed position. “What would  _ you _ do if you found the fucker that took your home, Maggie?” _

_ Concern morphed into stone cold resolution. “I’d kill him. Simple as that,” was all Magnus said. A chill hung in the air despite the crackling of the fireplace and the room lapsed into an uneasy silence. _

_ “Y’know, if I wanted the chance to go exact revenge or whatever bullshit, I’d just have to smack myself in the face,” Merle mused, rousing a chuckle from the others. “I’d smack Kravitz in the face while I’m at it too. I mean, fuck that guy. But we live with our decisions. I mean, hey, my vision ain’t the best, but hindsight’s twenty-twenty and all that, right?” _

_ The conversation shifted into more lighthearted topics after that, leaving nothing but one hell of a hangover and topics that would be forgotten and buried and never brought up again, ‘lest the ghosts of the past haunt them in the night and leave them bare.) _

 

There’s a hand on Taako’s hip.

He glances down.

Merle doesn’t say anything, only gives him a concerned frown. And normally he would flay the dwarf for the contact, but he merely gives him a strained grin and shakes his head.

“Need me to hold your hand before we cross the road, little man?” he sneers. Best to play it off as if it’s nothing. No need to make the others worry and cause a scene here. He doesn’t hear Merle’s reply over the roar of the people and the static in his head and watches as the dwarf huffs and removes his palm, going off in pursuit of Magnus.

And Taako is left to think.

All this time, and here he fucking is. All along. Here he is. And he thought he’d be stronger than this. After all, look at who the hell he’s become! He’s some sort of a fucking hero of sorts as a reclaimer! A shitty hero, but a hero nonetheless! He’s fought people so corrupted by power that they’ve become more monster than man. He survived making deals with goblins and bugbears and the leveling of a town. He survived jumping out of a moving train, and he even had the strength to teleport the damn thing so far away that no one got hurt. He survived battle wagon racing and the corruption of the thief who thought herself a god. He survived the grim fucking reaper and the batshit crazy scientist who nearly turned the fucking world to crystal and the legion of spirits who tried to claw their way back to the mortal plane. He survived the time loops of Refuge and the Chalice and the giant purple worm. He survived learning the truth and he’s survived every day since then.

He survived.

He survived Sazed.

He survived on his own.

He survived with him and he survived without him and he’ll keep on surviving because that’s what he’s always done.

Taako’s a survivor, baby. It’s what he’s always done and what he always will do.

He knows when to stay and when to fight, and he knows when to call it quits and run. Taako is not brave like Magnus, maybe not smart as Merle, but he’s quick, but he’s clever, but he’s a damn competent wizard, not a child. He doesn’t need to be the hero. He knows this. He knows this, and he knows that he’s not strong like Sazed is, but he’s cunning. And that is what makes him dangerous.

He knows he’s fucking better than this and some part of his brain is screaming at him, but his head is full of cotton and static and all he can do is stand and stare in disbelief and fear and emptiness that has locked away his mobility and reason.

But here’s the thing: you don’t move on. You learn to live with the scars of the past, but you never really move on. You learn to live and let live, to talk the talk and walk the walk and pretend that everything that ever happened never existed, that you’re normal like everyone else. You learn to live, but you don’t move on. You learn to cope, but you never walk away unscathed.

And he knows that he’s better than this, that it happened years ago. That he’s wanted this day to come for so long, now. He wanted nothing more than to pass on the burn, to reflect and deflect because now that he knows what really happened, now that he knows the  _ truth _ , maybe he can return the burden of his guilt to the fucker who is responsible in the first place. Pass it along for it to be someone else’s problem, because the blood on his hands doesn’t belong to him, but stain his skin all the same. All the things he said he’d do burn in his throat like bile.

The human with the basket is walking down the road, and he is frozen. He can remember all the hate, all the loathing he holds for Sazed, but his feet are glued to the ground. His breathing is shallow. He doesn’t move. Poised like a rabbit ready to run at the first sign of danger, a deer in the headlights.

You don’t live with a man for three years and not recognize little things about him. The way he holds himself sets him apart from the crowd, hints at his personality as a generally tired individual, back with a slight hunch from years of lugging around shit. Steady stride like that of a mule, confident steps careful to never trip. A round body shape created from both working in a kitchen and physical labor. Built like a fucking tank.

Large, calloused hands littered in scars. 

One is placed on his shoulder, and he fucking  _ bolts _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i wrote this abt 5 or so days ago for a few different reasons (partially because i didn't wanna work on my art portfolio which was a Big Miss Steak, partially to cope w my own Trauma because sometimes u just gotta project on fictional characters my guy)  
> moving on from abuse is really hard!! people think it's just a one and done, you move on but you really don't!! i thought i heard my brother the other day and every single bone in my body locked up. and you know that you're so much better than this and while you're alone you can think of all the ways you want to stand up for yourself but when put in the situation?  
> what I'm trying to say is that it's a lot harder than people think it is.
> 
> ANYWAYS i wrote this while running on Very little sleep, and edited while also running on Very little sleep, I have no beta readers because of Shame, and if this turns out to be incoherent? I apologize!
> 
> My tumblr is whimsicmimic so gimme a shout over there about this silly podcast!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taako may not know much, but he knows exactly when it is time to run.

_ (His aunt - Tante, as everyone referred to her - had taught him everything. _

_ Well, not everything, but as much as he could make sense of his memories he learned from her. _

_ She was a large tiefling - more a family friend than a blood relative - full of a hearty sort of life that was absent from the home he had with his parents before being sent to live with her. She was a jolly soul of a former bard who danced and sang while she worked, teaching Taako how to do the same. And while she was neither very smart nor strong, she was sly and clever. She knew the hand she was dealt at birth and she knew how to manipulate the world to her advantage. She talked her way around fights that broke out in the little restaurant she ran, used her beauty to coerce or intimidate others into listening to what she had to say. _

_ She earned the respect of many despite her race, and earned his respect just the same. _

_ Taako had been arguing - was he arguing? Chatting? Just talking to himself? With who, he can’t remember, nor about what - while Tante worked in the kitchen. The rhythmic chop-chop-chop of the knife interrupted by the noise of bare feet hitting the tile floor as he came tearing through the dimly lit room, stopping by the counter where Tante carefully chopped ingredients for some sort of a stew by the smell of it. She lit a fire underneath the large pot with her hand, then reached over to give his ear a teasing flick. He stuck his tongue out in response and grinned as Tante turned her attention towards the meat - some sort of rodent? Too big to be a rodent. Rabbit, more likely. _

_ “You two are like little rabbits,” she said, glancing back down at the space next to him. “Better be careful that you don’t get caught.” _

_ “We aren’t rabbits!” Taako remembered protesting, “we’re something better than that! We’re deer! Or something. I guess?” _

_ Tante hummed thoughtfully, wiping her hands on her apron. She seemed to consider this before giving his ear a tug. “Rabbits,” she said again and he huffed in mock offense. “Always running around, making a bit of a nuisance of yourself. Stealing whatever you can get your hands on, and careful not to get caught. But you know better than to hide your guilty paws from me.” _

_ She held out a clawed hand expectantly. Two golden bracelets and three rings Taako had snatched from her jewelry box fell into her palm and Tante hummed once more. Two more rings were handed over, albeit with a smidge of reluctance. She placed them in the pocket of her apron and shook her head, a chuckle roused at her nephew’s antics. _

_ Tante turned back to the task at hand, separating the rabbit meat from bones and setting them aside for later. “Best be careful, little rabbit. Wouldn’t want you getting caught. The world is not kind to rabbits like us.” She gestures to him with the knife in hand, mouth turned up in a worried, yet teasing grin. “The world will look at you and see you as weak. But there are different kinds of strength than just being strong.” _

_ And Taako crept towards her once more to listen more closely, ears perked from their previous position drooped in shame. He is poked in the stomach with a pinky and Tante hums again, clawed feet tap tap tapping against the tiled floor as she danced while she worked, regarding the child with a fond look. _

_ “We may not have the strength of a bear, or the wisdom of an owl, but we are small and we are quick. If you can outrun them, they will never catch you. And if they can never catch you, you will never be hurt.” _

_ “But what if they back me in a corner?” Taako asked, playing along with whatever point his Tante was trying to make. _

_ “Then you find a way out,” she simply responds, a grin on her lips. “You are smarter than you think, little rabbit. There is a way out of every situation. You only have to convince them of it. They say beauty is a sign of weakness, but the Raven Queen knows the world has a weakness for beauty. They’ll let their guard down for a pretty face like yours, little rabbit. And that’s all you need.” _

_ “But what if they don’t?” _

_ The sound of footsteps against floor slowed to a stop as his Tante considered this. For several moments, the only sound was that of the boiling broth bubbling in the pot. “Then you use your wits and you use your charm and you use whatever you have at your disposal. You don’t fight fair, little rabbit, because the fight isn’t fair. You are at a disadvantage playing a rigged game. So you change the game. You cheat and play dirty and do what you can. And you bring them hell.” _

_ The sing-song lilt of her voice is replaced with an edge at that, and silence falls over them once more. Eyes wide and ears flat against his head at the sudden shift in tone, Taako freezes, unsure of what to make of the urgency and how to react. He’s clutching his hand and trying to make himself as small as possible, wanting to leave but unsure if that would be a bad idea. His Tante lets out a long exhale and turns towards him, kneeling down so that she is on eye level. “You can be big, and you can be strong, and that’s all good and dandy. But the world will try to kill you if you stand your ground and fight. There are those who are bigger, stronger. And if they catch you, you will die. But they must catch you first, little rabbit.” Both her tone and expression are grim as she speaks. The hand on his shoulder pulls him into a hug when he makes no move to run away. “Don’t let that happen.” _

_ And he can’t quite make sense of it, but Taako can remember hearing a voice that wasn’t his telling him with pure honesty and resolve, “you can run. You can do the running, and I can do the fighting, and we’ll never get caught. We’ll protect each other, and we’ll never get caught. Promise.” _

_ And he promised. _

 

_ Roughly two and a half months later, Tante was caught. _

_ They say she was finally put in a situation she couldn’t talk or run her way out of. They say a group of vagabond humans stormed their way in with a grudge against tieflings for their infernal roots. They say they held her down and slit her throat and set her home ablaze. They say the world is not a kind place for rabbits when it is full of predators with teeth like knives and heads full of hate. _

 

_ Taako promised he would never get caught. _

_ He is now twelve and he is alone but not quite, and he has a promise in his head and determination in his heart and he knows for a fact that he will never get caught.) _

__

The elf dives through crowds, shoving people out of his way as he runs. He pays little regard towards the looks he’s getting, focusing only on the matter at hand: it’s  _ him _ and he’s  _ upset _ and if he doesn’t get the fuck away from here right now, things’ll only get worse. He knows when to talk. He knows when to fight. And he sure as hell knows when to run like the hounds of hell are on his tail.

There’s someone following him, calling his name. And he doesn’t buy this shit. There’s no way in hell that he’s stopping - why the fuck would he stop for the fuck who is chasing him? - he’s already gone so far. Might as well keep going. Doesn’t matter that his throat is burning with each breath, doesn’t matter that his heels weren’t made for running (and what sort of heels  _ were _ ? The art of running in heels - and it was an  _ art _ \- was one he’d mastered long ago alongside transmutation magic), doesn’t matter.

There’s a surge of energy from the crowd and Taako recognizes the feeling of hold person from Lucas’s lab, albeit this time not from some shitty suit keeping them all from going after the shittier scientist. He manages to evade the brunt of the spell, but the distraction is just enough to cause him to trip.He swears loudly as his legs lock mid stride, momentum carrying him forward to land face first on the stone road, skidding slightly upon impact. He can feel the burn of broken skin and scrambles forward, still desperate to get away.

Yeah, eating shit in the middle of a crowded marketplace?

Not the best call back to reality.

He's not. He's not sure if. This is all incredibly stupid. That is all he knows, that this is stupid and incredibly un-Taako of him. Because Taako is a steel fortress. Nothing gets through to him. There's nothing wrong here, folks, just a shitty flip wizard. There's a kenku arguing with someone - no, not someone, that's Magnus. And the kenku thinks he's a thief which, well, not exactly wrong. Not correct in this circumstance, but not wrong.

The umbra staff fell from his grip when he fell, but Taako can feel the build up of fireball in the tip as he scoops it up. He didn’t cast it, didn’t intend for this, but he can feel it, a potential way out should he need it. Like the staff itself is looking out for him. A half remembered promise, words of safe flight while someone else watches his back. 

He’s not going to attack a crowd.   


But it’s a way out nonetheless.

It’s a comfort. It’s power at his fingertips, an assurance that he’s not going to fall over at the insistence of a stiff breeze.

He’s not going to attack a crowd, but Magnus is keeping the kenku who made him fall at bay and the majority of people want nothing more than to go on with their day. No, no need to hurt anyone. It’s easy, it’s. He can get around this.

He catches Merle give him a look from the corner of his eye, and he doesn’t need to be able to hear the dwarf to understand. “ _ Don’t you fucking dare do this _ .”

Too late.

There’s a second spell on his lips, and he’s gone.

 

( _ When the first person vomited, Taako knew something went horribly wrong. _

_ He didn’t wait around to see the full of rest, but he knew. He  _ knew _. _

_ Even if he wasn’t aware of the extent to which he fucked up, he knew. _

_ People who get sick from cooking shows ruined reputations. No matter what, they were ruined. That was a given. You don’t pass out food that makes patrons sick without word spread like wildfire. It doesn’t matter how isolated the place is from the rest of the world; word spreads. It spreads, and it spreads, and it spreads, and soon there’ll be nowhere left to hide your face from shame. _

_ And when the first person vomits, the second does the same barely seconds afterwards, and he knows that this isn’t just one fuck up situation of someone who was already sick, that there’s something wrong and no matter what, he’s ruined anyways, he has to fucking  _ go _. But he can’t bear to look away. _

_ The entire life he built from the ground up is falling apart around him, and he acknowledges this with a cocktail of burning shock and devastation and cool detachment.  _

_ “Taako!” Sazed yells, feet skidding slightly on loose dirt as he runs onstage, “Taako, we need to  _ go _!” _

_ He isn’t sure if he imagined that or not, but he makes no effort to do anything but sit and stare. There’s desperate cries from the audience as they drop like flies, convulsing on the dusty earth in a pile of their own spit and shit and filth, and there’s children crying out in pain, and there’s parents calling for doctors, healers, clerics, anyone, there’s prayers muttered and psalms wailed and, and, and, _

_ Sazed clasps his hands around his shoulders, shocking him out of his stupor just enough to look the human in the eyes. _

_ “We need to go,” he says. “We need to go right this fucking second.” And there’s something in him that responds, despite floating six feet above himself like all of this is just a dream. Like this is all happening to someone else, because nothing would happen to him. Because he did everything right, and what did he do wrong, what could he have done wrong, he knows what he did, what did he  _ do _ , and - “Taako, for the love of all things holy, we need to fucking  _ go _.” _

_Sazed tosses him over a shoulder like he’s a sack of flower, and he makes no move to resist against this, no indignant squirming, no protests that he can walk himself. He's a grown fucking man, he would usually say when Sazed tried to guide him around like some dainty little maiden clutching her husband's arm. Didn't like being herded from place to place. Didn't like being touched much for that matter either. But instead of the usual spluttering of annoyance, Taako barely lets out a groan before spilling bile behind them, sickened at what had unfolded._

_ He barely registers hitting the floor of the wagon before they speed off, leaving the tattered remains of his life behind him.  _

_ Sazed is asking him if he ate anything, if he needed to find a doctor, a healer, if he was sick, something went wrong. And yeah, to say that something went wrong was the understatement of the century. To say that he was sick wasn't quite off the mark either; he ate nothing, but he was sickened nonetheless. He thinks about this, but can't seem to utter a single sound, can't seem to move from his position on the floor. _

_ All Taako can do is sit and stare and wonder what the hell he did wrong. _

 

_ He doesn’t eat. Doesn’t sleep. Doesn’t move from his spot on the floor of the cart. Sazed prods at him, demands to know, “what did you do? Taako, what did you do?” and he doesn’t have an answer. _

_ “I killed forty people, Sazed,” Taako finally croaks. “What do I do?” _

_ Sazed’s voice turns harsh at that. “I wouldn’t know.” _

 

_ Two days later, he awakes to nothing. _

_ The horses are gone. The gold hidden under the boards of the wagon are gone. Half of the produce they carried was wilting. Anything fresh was gone. Anything worth anything is gone. Sazed is gone. _

_ Two days pass. There’s not a single copper to his ruined name, soiled by the blood of forty people. Two days pass, and Taako is left with nothing. But there’s poison on his lips, a weapon of his hips, and absolutely nothing left to lose this time. _

  
_ And for the first time in his life, Taako is truly alone. He realizes his days of being a rabbit are over, and Taako becomes a snake.) _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't remember if it was mentioned what race Taako's aunt is so she's a tiefling because I'm not gonna lie I have the Biggest soft spot for tieflings ok ok cool cool cool Taako's ears are big because they are full of Love
> 
> did u know how much I wanted to write Lup in here but couldn't because then I wouldn't know where the placement of this is (post eleventh hour, pre wonderland)  
> there's implied Lup. I'm not allowed to write her in because that would mess up placement but look. look. look. i love her. i would die for her. she's there and she's powerful and I love her so much.
> 
> anyways theres like. so many watership down references in this because watership down is a Huge Huge Huge love of mine and it WORKS with this so much. 
> 
> I just wanna say thank y'all for the warm reception towards this!! I spent all of last night jumping around and just super excited because of all the comments/kudos/bookmarks!! Writing is something I'm just starting to begin to get comfortable with again, so this has all just been really nice?? Yeah.
> 
> My tumblr is whimsicmimic, so shoot me an ask there if you wanna chat about this silly podcast!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taako reflects.

Taako finds himself in an alleyway.

 

The marketplace made his head pound with memories and smells and bad times, so he left. He left on to better places, somewhere to hide. Can't go back to the caravan life, but the need for something familiar, something he knows, something, something, bubbles in his throat like a scream he needs to cap, some sort of gurgling cry that blocks his airway for a few moments. 

You need to calm down, he thinks to himself, and he is calm. He's perfectly calm, he's breathing alright, look at him breathe. In and out, still breathing! Perfectly calm, perfectly calm, and look at him go. Look at him go, what a good, calm individual sitting in an alleyway, curled up with his arms around his knees next to a dumpster that reeks of food rot and cat shit. How fitting.

He should be stronger than this.

He knows he's better than this.

Taako had cackled with the glee of a free man's guilt after Refuge. Because all this fucking time, he had thought it his fault. He believed this entire time that this was all his fault, that it had been some issue with his cooking, with his transmutation, with anything. He had poured over every book after that night in Glamour Springs, ripped his hair out over considering every possibility, any chance for error, looking for what it was he did wrong. Thirty garlic clove chicken wasn't something he could fuck up so spectacularly. He'd be hard pressed to make a bad presentation of it, let alone _ kill forty people with it _ . Every action, every movement, every step was etched into his brain.

What the fuck had he done wrong?

 

( _ In one of the days after living on his own, he managed to scrounge up enough for a head of lettuce. _

_ He didn't know the purpose for it. That was a lie, he did know. He knows what ingredients he put into the chicken, he knew which ones were transmuted, and he knew which ones were not. With a quick incantation, he waves his wrist and the wilted head of lettuce before him begins to change hue. Elderberries, he can do those, he can do those, he's done it before - but all he can think about is the stench of vomit and blood on the dirt streets, the wails of the calamity he left behind as he and Sazed bolted for the cart and never looked back. _

_ The flight of a guilty man only cemented his crimes. If he had stayed, he'd be hung. That much was clear as day, but maybe he would've been able to talk his way out of this like he always had, always will. His Tante taught him well, how to weave his way with words and get what he wanted. How to use them to fight, to protect, to work his way around any threatening situation and leave himself on top. You don't make it if you're lacking in charisma, and he was as skilled in smooth talking as he was in cooking, even if he wasn't always the most convincing. _

_ Maybe if he had stayed, he would've figured out the truth before the fucking Chalice, set his mind at peace, sorted away some of the guilt, repent, obtain some fucking closure. Instead, he was left with the smell of sickness and misery mixed with garlic. Of sick and shit and sweat that clung to him like shame, the image of the clearing before him littered with bodies as people ran and ran to get help but to no avail. _

_ And in his guilt, the lettuce turned to nightshade instead of elderberries as his brain wracked for some sort of a reason why this happened, where it was that he fucked up. Because there is a reason, there is always a reason. And his quiet voice announcing his discovery to no one, fear in his eyes as he found what to pin the blame on. _

_ A scapegoat. _

_ It was never really his fault. _ )

 

Of course, the answer to that was a whole lot of nothing.

He had done nothing wrong. He wasn’t the one at fault, he was the  _ victim _ here, not the  _ villain _ .

The thing about fame was that people put performers on pedestals, label them as they will, deem their worth on how they act, how they treat others, and the second they make a single slip, they tear them down. They are hailed as perfect beings, of “heroes of the people” one moment, only for the next day to be seen as irredeemable as “scum of the earth”. And there’s very rarely any sort of middle ground.   


Where Taako fucked up, though, wasn’t some little slip up. It wasn’t a matter of being misinformed about an issue, nor was it about some cruel joke. It wasn’t repeated events of dickery, although his habit of petty thievery raised some eyebrows and left his reputation questionable at best among merchants. No, the slip he made that destroyed his life was trusting his partner.

His trust in most people was weak at best, in all due honesty. After being passed around all his life, you came to the conclusion that the people you trust will leave you. You couldn’t get attached. If he got attached, he would get caught, and to get caught would be a fate worse than death. What that entailed was something he wasn’t quite sure of yet, but a feeling in his gut convinced him of such. And trusting?

If you leave your heart open, people will take advantage of that.

They will delve in and take everything good left in your heart and toss it around on the street like garbage.

Everyone who wants to get to your heart will leave. He learned that at an early age.    


(He has a feeling that wasn’t always the case, that there was someone who didn’t, someone whom he could bare his heart to, and someone who could do the same. But he knows they’re gone now. He knows that they’re gone, or else he would remember, or else he would remember  _ who _ , instead of racking his brain for some sort of answer only for void in response. His memory wasn’t the best, but if it were important, if it were this important, he would  _ know _ .)

Taako just didn’t want to be  _ alone _ anymore.

He would’ve done anything to convince Sazed to stay.

He knew it wasn’t healthy, he knew that he should’ve kicked his ass to the curb months before Glamour Springs. It wasn’t good for either of them. But the thing was, Taako wasn’t meant to be alone. He needed other people. He needed reactions, he needed an audience, he needed reassurance and feedback that what he was doing was correct. Whether or not he listened to it was another matter, but he needed it.

He wasn’t meant to be _alone_.

And in the months, years between his time with his parents and his Tante and family friends, cousins, uncles, aunts, to his time alone with caravan life, to the months, the years of something, and caravan life once more - he lost something. He knew he lost something profoundly dear to him. And from that time on, he was truly alone.

But he surrounded himself with people through caravan life, and he refused to get close. And then a thought, then a hope, then a dream, then a future came close, and with that came Sazed.

 

And here’s the thing: it’s not all bad times.

A single bad event doesn’t turn away all the good ones. The good times exist, and the good times persist, and even when the good times are gone, there’s this sense of maybe things aren’t too bad, you mean, things could be worse. Maybe it’s always been this way and you’ve always loved this before. Well, maybe not  _ loved _ it, but maybe things’re still in the good times and you’re just blind by how good things are, had been, might be. And while you can’t excuse the bad times, sometimes through those rose tinted lens you still think that things could be so, very much worse. It’s not about how bad things are, it’s about how much worse things could be, and so you count your blessings that they aren’t.

And here’s the thing: they like to make a monster of the other person.

They make monsters of men, and where they see a beast, you still only see the guise they put on. Even with those rose colored glasses fractured, you still see through the shards in some sort of disbelief.

 

You get this idea of how  something should be, about how the people who fuck you up and leave scars act and behave certain ways, and they have zero redeeming qualities, and sometimes that’s just not the case. And you humanize your monsters, not because they deserve a second chance, not because you deserve the abuse, not because it was any less fucked up than it actually was. 

Because it’s not always switchblade words and open wounds; sometimes it’s tender touches and “I love you”s. And times are bad and maybe, just maybe, it’s your fault, even though it never was. But monsters are clever, and you’ll spend the rest of your life questioning it. Because it’s not that bad. Because you think you were making a big deal out of nothing. Because it’s years of guilt and shame and only yourself to blame when you were never really at fault, were you? (He wasn't. He knows this now. He knows that he isn't to blame for their deaths, even though he is the one who has to live with the consequences.)

And here’s the thing: it’s complicated. It’s a complicated thing to hate someone. It’s a complicated thing to hate someone you trusted. To open your heart to someone and be left in the dirt. Because life would be so much easier in black and white, but the bad times and the good times are so close together that you can’t tell where one starts and the other ends and it’s a subtle, quiet thing.

Life would be so much easier if you could just let go of all the positive memories of the person who leaves you bruised and battered and bleeding out in the dust.

And wouldn’t that be easier.

But life isn’t easier. Life is exactly how it is, for better or for worse, and life doesn’t care about how much easier it could be. It simply is. And no one gets  to choose how life is. No one exactly wants to pick out exactly how life is as it is.

If given the chance, who wouldn’t like the opportunity to change their life for the better?

For example, he would rather not be having a breakdown in an empty alleyway surrounded by garbage.

That would be nice.

It's just- it's just stupid. To know that you're alright now. To know that you're in a better place now, a more stable place, a safer place, a place with reliable meals and shelter and steady income. Somewhere that didn't have you biting your nails every time some minuscule detail went wrong. Where he didn't have to prove his worth more than he already did at the risk of someone else elbowing in on his livelihood. There was no risk of the rug being pulled out from under him, no risk of losing everything once more in a fit of jealousy, no risk of the sky falling down around him with the guilt and the shame and the blame being pinned on his back.

It was never his fault, and he knows that now.

So why the fuck is he breaking down now that he's in a better place?

 

The sheer terror from earlier has mostly subsided, adrenaline leaving Taako drained and numb. His legs are dead from his wild escapade and he winces as he takes off his heels. He's vaguely aware of the sweat dripping from him as he assesses his situation: tired, sore, and ashamed - all part of a complete balanced breakfast! Instead of feeling like a bottle of soda that had been shaken to the brink of bursting, someone stabbed a hole in the side and let all the energy fizzle out. All that's left is this hollow, fragile feeling as if his bones were made of spun sugar globes, ready to shatter at the slightest provocation.

There's a low hum that takes Taako a moment to realize that isn't part of the background noise, but rather is emitting from the small stone on a cord around his neck. It sure is buzzing, alright. And maybe if he just ignores it, it’ll stop. It’s not malicious intent - only answering his stone of Farspeech would take more energy he has at this point. Moving would take more energy than he has at this point. And while the hum is annoying, there’s something in his throat and he doesn’t think he can speak anyways. 

He closes his eyes and waits.   
  
The stone hums.

It’s starting to get on his nerves. He hums at the stone mockingly. And the stone hums on anyways, as rocks do not have feelings and cannot feel shame for being obnoxious. Technology and magic is supposed to make life easier, not be a royal pain in the ass. He could just. Throw it. But that’s counterproductive and a waste of money.

He takes a deep breath and picks up the stone, which flares to life at his touch. Through the intensity at which it is vibrating, he can guess at least three different people are trying to reach him at once. He picks one at random and braces himself for the oncoming lecture.

“Taako?” The voice is rough and breathless, mixed with irritability and concern. Magnus. “Taako, pick up your goddamned rock for the love of-”   


“I’m here,” Taako interrupts, and immediately Magnus brightens, like he hadn’t expected any response. And considering how long Taako went before noticing his stone of Farspeech going off, that had probably been the case for a while.

“We’ve been running all over the place looking for you! What the hell, man? Where are you? What happened? Are, are you alright?”

The loudness of Magnus’s voice makes Taako cringe, holding his stone at arm’s length until the onslaught of questions ended. He could goof this off, but what’s the point? “No.”   
  
“Oh.” Silence. “Yeah, I figured, but it’s polite to ask, y’know?” Since when did Magnus care about what counted as polite? “Where are you?”

“I’m gonna be honest with you, my fella. I have no fucking clue.”

“I’ll find you then. Just hold tight for now. I’ll have Merle get Angus to track your bracer, and we’ll be there in just a little bit.” Shit, he forgot bracers could do that. If he were to ever run away, there’s no way he wouldn’t get caught. There’s no escape, no taking off the bracer either. He’d have to chop his arm off to get away, like a rabbit in a snare. Lovely, lovely, lovely. “Still there?”   


Taako has to fight to get out a steady response. “Yeah.”

“Don’t hang up. I’ll be there in a bit, just talk with me for a while, alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Y’know, I saw a deer the other day.” Huh. 

“You saw a deer,” Taako echoed, not quite sure where he was going with all this.

“I saw a deer,” Magnus confirmed. “I got the ok to head planetside by Lucretia for a day or so, just to get a little bit of alone time. Lucretia had me bring Carey along - buddy system and all that - but hey, that was alright. She ended up doing some routine in the trees or something? We’re good. Wanted to work off some steam and get some stuff for carving, so I had Avi pull a few strings and cash in a favor or two, and everything was good to go, y’know? So with everything on the ok, we headed out...” Taako could not care less about Magnus’s story, but there was a softness to his voice as he recalled it that he decided against telling Mags to shut it. “Still there?”

“Yeah.” Was there a purpose to whatever it was Mags was trying to do? Was he fucking with him? Magnus was too nice for that, right? Well, he could be a jerk, but weren’t they all assholes to each other at times?

“So Carey’s scaled - heh, scaled, get it? - the highest tree that she can, and she just sorta whisper-yells, ‘Maggie! Check out this weird dog I found!’ - I’m not sure if she had ever seen a deer before this? - and she’s waving her arms as wildly as she can without making noise and pointing a ways away. She almost fell out of the tree. If Killian was there, she might’ve died with how excited Carey was. But right where she was pointing, there were three big ol’ deer! Big ol’ tree dogs! And she looks at me, and at that moment, I knew she was going to try to fucking wrestle a deer. Still with me?”

“Mhm.” Taako closes his eyes, relaxing ever so slightly as Magnus went on with his story, slightly exaggerating some details about how he “accidentally” ended up wrestling a deer that Carey had tried to ride. A lot of it sounded like nonsense, but with how much bullshit they now dealt with on a daily basis, he wouldn’t doubt the events having actually occurred. He was only half listening, more focusing on Magnus’s voice as something to keep him grounded and responding to Mags whenever he checked to make sure he hadn’t hung up. 

It was kind of nice, to just listen. To just have the company of someone else, without needing to contribute much. The story was just chatter to fill up the silence, to drive away his thoughts. To keep everything at bay for just a little bit longer.

“Taako?”

“Still here."

 

There’s the thunk thunk thunk of heavy footsteps drawing closer, and Taako tenses once more, curling protectively over the umbra staff. Just. Just in case. But there’s a relieved laugh and a very tired sigh and he looks up and he’s surrounded by the two people he could call family.

Magnus kneels down in front of where he’s sitting, large grin sprawled across his face and eyebrows knit in concern. He seems cautious about touching Taako, knowing the elf’s lack of tolerance with any sort of physical contact, only for Taako to move forward and wrap his arms around him, burying his face in Magnus’s chest. Merle is rubbing circles in his shoulder, and they’re both warm, and nothing is alright right now, but maybe it could be soon. And he’s sitting in some shady ass alleyway next to a dumpster, but he feels safe with his family right here. He’s cold and he’s tired and he has a feeling that he’ll fall apart the moment he lets go. So he clings tight, counting the seconds as he breathes.

Magnus’s chest vibrates as he says something Taako doesn’t quite catch to Merle, whose hand ends up sliding down to rest against his ankle as Magnus lifts him off the ground.

“Let’s go home,” he feels Magnus say as he carries him away, leaving the city of Neverwinter and all unpleasant memories unearthed behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> local Ruff Boi and Impulsive Lesbian find a deer, more news at 8.
> 
> this wasss???? technically the end but i feel like we could do Much Better, so I'll throw on a fourth one. IT FEELS KINDA WEIRD because these three chapters were supposed to be read as a oneshot and were all laid out at One Time, but I ended up breaking it into chapters because I, too, am an impulsive lesbian. gimme a few days to write it, but as far as this is???? pretty done????? theres that fourth chapter but this is pretty pretty done.
> 
> (explanation on the deer story because i've been .34 cm away from tossin myself off a roof the past 2 days. in the past when ive been suicidal, ive ended up in maaaaany voicecalls with friends who live across the globe and. ive found that just. keeping ppl talking is a Highly Effective way to talk someone down, ive found. stall for time. distract em. works for panic/anxiety attacks too. ppl always say, "i dont know what to say to a suicidal person!" or "i don't know how to help someone whos having a panic attack!" and my fella, just Talk To Them about Any Dumb Shit. tell them about that book you've been reading or rant about how fuckin cool the character designs are for that game u both picked up or read the entire bee movie script word for word line for line aloud for smth. it doesnt matter, just keep talking, just keep them talking.)
> 
> i'm whimsicmimic on tumblr, so shoot me an ask on there and we can dance in a circle while whacking sazed with a shovel


End file.
